


Heart in a cage

by tomoewantsdolls



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, Broken Heart, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, LITERALLY, M/M, Post Reichenbach, but there's hope!, sum of drabbles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 3,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomoewantsdolls/pseuds/tomoewantsdolls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John’s heart is broken and he cannot fix it. The best thing he can do is put it away... or maybe not.</p><p>Written in drabbles (more or less)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not your housekeeper

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically magical realism, so many things do not make sense strictly speaking, starting with the premise of the story, medically impossible, obviously.
> 
> And please, forgive any writting mistakes, I'm not a native speaker so any comment in the matter is highly apreciated (and I'll fix it immediately!)

John’s heart is broken and he cannot fix it.

He doesn’t live in 221b Baker Street anymore, but Mrs Hudson visits him every day. He doesn’t live far, anyway, and it’s the way she has found to fix her own heart. She visits him every day, and every day he only says four words; “It hurts so much”.

Once and again. 

On those times she grabs her heart, trying to maintain its pieces together and forces a smile. ‘It will get better’, she says. ‘It will get better’.

Today she cannot help crying a little, and she feels her heart stutter and clench. It stings in all the cracks and old wounds. Tomorrow she will doubt, tomorrow she will hesitate, but she will come again. She must to; she cannot give up, what would Sherlock think of her if she let John, their John, disappear?

 

Today John is different. He’s cooking breakfast.

‘Want a cuppa?’

Mrs Hudson just nod, she’s afraid to speak, afraid to say something that would break the moment, the miracle. In the end it doesn’t matter. In the end John realizes he’s poured an extra cup of tea.

‘That’s not his cup’, he mutters.

‘Oh, dear’, she rushes to his side but he’s gone again, his gaze drowning, fixed in a point over her shoulder.

‘It hurts, it hurts so much’

She sobs and fights her tears when a single drop escapes and wanders down his cheek. It’s not until the next day that she notices the birdcage. It’s black, and it’s covered with a black woollen cloth.


	2. Not my division

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade pays a visit.

Today Lestrade has come to visit.

He notes the change, of course he notes. He just doesn’t know if he likes it. He’s eager for him to recover, but he doesn’t know if that’s the best way.

His first glance is to the birdcage, but John seems oblivious to it, or at least he doesn’t care.  
‘So, how are you…?’ He asks. He wants to say “How are you functioning like this?” or “How are you coping with the emptiness?” but Lestrade keeps the sentence like this, unfinished.

‘Fine, you want a cuppa?’

‘Er, no, thanks’

John gets up anyway and made a beeline to the kitchen. He takes two mugs but hesitates filling the second one.

He turns to Lestrade, opens his mouth and says nothing. Lestrade notes a waver in his gaze. He turns to see the black cage, its trembling, like John himself.


	3. I don't count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly tries.

Molly stands in front of 221b Baker Street for a while.

She puts her hand on the doorknob, feels her heart flutter in desperation and puts her hand in her chest instead. The knob sighs patiently; it’s the fourth time in five minutes, but it has all the time of the world.

Molly encourages herself and tries again, but the door is opened in that precise moment from the inside.

‘Oh’, Mrs Hudson pats her chest lightly, ‘Oh Molly, dear, you’ve surprised me’ 

‘Oh, yes, hmm, sorry... hmm...’

‘Can I help you?’

Molly twists the end of her shirtsleeve in her fingers, trying to find the words. The notch in her throat is a bit distracting.

‘Hum, I... it’s John here?’

‘Oh, no dear, he doesn’t live here anymore’

‘Yes, I know, s-someone told me, told me his address, I’ve been there, but he’s not at home, and I thought, well, maybe he...’

‘But that’s wonderful! I was afraid he wouldn’t go out... ever again’

One of their hearts beats wishfully, healing a bit, the other one beats glumly, cracking a bit.

‘I’m heading to his flat, for a bit of housekeeping. Maybe he has come back already. You can come with me if you want, surely he will be happy to see you’

Molly’s smile skips her face.

‘No, I don’t think so, I-I mean, it’s late, I...’

‘Maybe next time?’

‘Maybe’


	4. Nothing hapens to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What have you done, John?

John is finally at home. 

Well, he doesn’t think of it like that, not really. There’s not a big leather sofa that hums contentedly when you sit on it, there’s not a fridge that presents its contents hoping to surprise you, there’s not seventeen steps that creaks to welcome you home…

It’s just a place where he keeps his things: a collection of jumpers, an illegal firearm, a plain card box with an undefined mix of items… and now an empty birdcage.

 

It’s a day after he has gone out that first time and Mrs. Hudson looks at him with a frown, trying to understand what’s different but failing. He feels a bit ill.

 

It’s six days after he has gone out that first time and Mrs. Hudson still looks worried but hopeful. He feels a bit dizzy.

 

It’s seventeen days after he has gone out that first time and Mrs. Hudson looks really worried but keeps silent. He feels a bit lightheaded.

 

It’s nineteen days after he has gone out that first time and Mrs. Hudson looks terrified but can’t make the words leave her mouth. He doesn’t feel much, really.


	5. I don't have friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Baker Street

John is back in Baker Street now.

Mrs. Hudson insisted on it. She looked worried; well, not only now, it seems it’s her normal state in the last few… weeks? Probably months. To keep track of time is hard for him.

He complied, he didn’t have a reason to not to. He doesn’t have many things anyway; the moving was completed within one morning.

 

So. Today is another peaceful day in 221b Baker Street. 

A loud crash of china and a startled cry suggest is not a peaceful day in 221a Baker Street, but John doesn’t move from the sofa. Said furniture squeaks in frustration and John finds himself an inch closer to the floor.

The seventeen steps creak loudly in an oddly familiar chuffed tone and the door bangs open to present a tall dark haired figure.

‘John!’

John’s eyebrows rise in mild surprise.

‘Who are you?’


	6. I only have one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is troubled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here is from Sherlock's point of view, mostly, probably, I don't know, this is growing by the minute.

Sherlock’s world tilts slightly to the left.

As if it’s suddenly heavier on that half. His mask hangs slightly out of place, and he has to shake his whole body to restore its former position.

He scrutinizes the person in front of him. It’s John, and it’s not. It’s unsettling. He expected rage, tears, and fists even, but the eyes of the man in front of him are vacuous. He holds his mask in place with two fingers debating internally if you can make some sense in someone’s brain by shaking them by the shoulders, vigorously. Or if that could trigger further damage.

A movement on his right catches the attention of the small portion of his brain that isn't panicking. It's Mrs Hudson. She lifts her chin pointing (not so) discreetly to a corner of the room where a black woollen cloth rests, hiding an object he cannot identify.

‘I’ll made you a cuppa’, she says, and rises on her toes to reach his cheekbones and lets a lingering kiss. He barely registers her muted words accompanied by a squeeze on his forearm. ‘You have to find his heart, you must!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be finished in 6 drabbles, but is getting longer... I don't know if dividing it in such shorts chapters is a bit annoying, but it settles different scenes with different characters... and is easier for me to write them.
> 
> Apologies.


	7. As a conductor of light you are unbeatable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wavers

He needs data.

He needs a point to start with. He had studied the cage and is both marvelled at John's audacity and horrified at the resultant change in demeanour. 

He paces and paces, and John looks at him as if he's some kind of dull TV program.

'You're strange'

Sherlock stops immediately, staring at John with uncertainty. "Strange isn't freak. It isn't." Under his mask anyone could see fear, hurt, but John doesn't see it and no one else is in the room.

'Meaning?'

'You move, a lot, but you don't get far'

A smile spreads in his face, surpassing all his barriers. He's tempted to let them fall whole.

'You're right'. And he lets his body move and makes something he doesn't remember doing before: initiate a hug.


	8. Do you ever wonder if there’s something wrong with us?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody has a heart

'Do you have it or not?'

Sherlock is exasperated. He wonders why he expected a different development of this encounter.

'Not exactly'. Tic, tic, tic.

Sherlock delivers his deadliest glare. Tic, tic, tic. Ugh, if he could stop that obnoxious noise! He sighs, closes his eyes, clenches his jaw and focuses on his goal. John's words have propelled forward, but he has found a barrier in his path named Mycroft. He tries to clear his mind when his brother speaks.

'I've been keeping an eye on it'. Tic, tic, tic.

'So you know where...'. He pauses, a frown emerges on his face. Tic, tic, tic. Mycroft manipulates a pocket watch that has extricated from his chest, and the noise stops.

Mycroft rolls his eyes, for once he forgets he is above all that. 'Don't be daft. This is just... a rampart, more practical than your mask, I should say. Nobody can exist without a heart, not for long', he says pointedly, 'not as oneself anyway'.

'Then, why are you wasting my time!?' He explodes, rising to his feet. This is cruel. There is so much to do...

'I'm merely keeping you occupied while my people make the place safe for you to meet her'.

'Her?'

'Did you know she's alive?' Mycroft looks at him for a second. 'What I am saying? Of course you did.'


	9. You should never let it rule your head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Woman helps, in her own way

He can see she's delighted.

Before she can speak he growls his command, making it sound as indisputable as he can manage, given the circumstances: 'Give it to me'

'Men! Coming back from the dead and that's all they have: demands'. Irene pouts.

'I don't have time for this'

'Okay', she says, feigning annoyance. 'It's not as if I intended to keep it forever, I owe you after all. I'm not so ungrateful.'  
Sherlock exudes relief from every pore. 'But', his hair stands on end, 'you must know a couple of things: when it was trusted to me it was in a very bad shape, I barely could keep it working. You cannot give it back to him like that, that would destroy him'

'I... can't. I don't know what to do...'

'Use that perfect brain of yours. Or better! Use your heart. I know is somewhere under all that layers. You can do it.'

Sherlock manages to avoid drowning in the confusion that's beginning to overwhelm him and gives her a tiny nod.

'Why you?' He splutters suddenly. 'I mean, how did you get it?'

'Oh, he didn't give it to me directly; as I'm sure you have guessed'

'I never guess' He snaps automatically.

'I don't think he would have trusted me, your better half is the jealous type'

'My...' He blinks, twice.

'You're a bit slow today. Have you eaten properly all this time? Anyway, I volunteered. Oh, you would have enjoyed his face when he saw me!'

'Mycroft's'

'He wasn't very pleased to see me... But he was out of his depth, hopeless... I don't know if I could have done it better, but I promise you I've tried my best.' She pulls from her purse a small velvet bag. Inside there is an ornate key. 'Okay, I'll give you what you came for, but first...'

'What?' He's desperate at this point.

'Dinner'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos!! ^_^ <3


	10. The game is on!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets results

He takes the shortest way back to Baker Street, however it seems endless.

His steps are cautious; he doesn’t want to risk a thing. It looks so fragile... He keeps the small box tucked under his coat, pressed on his chest, on the left side, where a low hum emerges from the lonely occupant, lulling its unexpected companion. Sherlock reviews his conversation with Irene on his head, once and again, looking for clues, trying to decide the next step, but he finds himself at home without an answer.

The whole house is buzzing expectantly at his actions, but he retreats to his bedroom the moment he feels John’s eyes on him, the word ‘coward’ echoing in his head.

He puts the box on his bed and opens it. The room gets a bit colder; he can even see the steam from his breath. 

John’s heart is small and beats in steady but muted rhythm. He considers retrieving the black birdcage but dismisses the idea immediately. He doesn’t like it, at all. It’s not a comfortable place and it’s cold; John’s heart deserves all the comfort and warm the world can provide. He decides to make a nest on his own bed, till he finds a more suitable place.

 

Later that night he places his blue scarf around it.

 

When he checks it in the morning, he swears he can feel the warm emanating.

 

By midday he's sure. He discards the searching of a more suitable place.


	11. Yes, thank you for your input.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About Sherlock's research

The next days are busy days.

 

He had neglected all the polite and social conventions that apply when someone comes back from the dead, or so it seems. He endures all the lectures and handshakes and hugs and screams and recriminations. He actually ignores them all, and takes the opportunity to do some research.

 

‘Fix? A heart is not a machine, Sherlock’, says Mrs Hudson fondly, ‘it needs… I don’t know, comfort, affection, hope maybe, happiness... and love, of course.’ 

John watches him enters in the kitchen a moment after, muttering something on the line of ‘emotions’ and ‘not my area’.

 

‘What do you mean with if it’s enough with a soft mattress to provide comfort?’ Asks Molly, her eyes turned to the right, trying to give sense to the sentence in her mind. ‘Don’t, Molly’

John enters in the morgue to find a red-faced Sherlock.

 

‘How do you show affection to others?’ 

‘”Give”, not “show”, Lestrade’

‘It’s the same for me. Certainly not with that look of scorn on your face’

‘You’re not helping’

 

‘What? Sherlock, look, if you don’t have intentions with that girl… or bloke, you should just say it. To them. It’s cruel to give them hopes, mate.’ Mike looks at him in concern,

‘What? No, that’s not what I mean’ 

 

‘What makes my brother happy? Are you kidding me?’ Harry Watson is frightening even when she whispers. Temper must run in the family, he concludes. He’s expecting an answer but she just sits there and stares. When she finally opens her mouth to speak, John’s back with three steaming mugs so she closes her mouth and glares at him with venom. ‘You’re gonna ruin it, aren’t you?’ She mutters. 

 

‘What do I love? What do you mean?’ John looks at him puzzled.

‘Nevermind’ He says, turning his striped mug on his hands. Why is everyone so uncooperative? He slides down on the sofa, resting on John and accommodating the big blanket around them.

‘Take’ He obliges and bites the custard cream John is offering him.

Why is everything so difficult?


	12. I was so alone

Sherlock is a bit confused.

He can assess that John’s heart has improved (it looks healthier, bigger even) but John doesn’t. He looks… lost, absent. He’s kind to Sherlock, he always is, even when he’s upset (not that he’s very upset lately, which is extremely upsetting by itself, because Sherlock admits in his head that he gives him motives to a sprout of rage sometimes, and that is John also, and god how he misses it).

Better it’s not enough; he wants the whole John, with his good and his bad days.

Also, John hasn’t called him by his name, not once, as if he’s a stranger to him, or keeps forgetting him.

‘That hurts’, he admits in the solitude of his bedroom, sitting on the floor, head resting in the mattress, besides John’s heart. He looks intently at it. Maybe it’s time; maybe he should return it… But what if it’s too soon? Irene’s words have haunted him since then.

‘Okay, this needs experimentation’, he concludes. He accommodates himself on the bed and cradles John’s heart in his hands with caution. He takes a deep breath and proceeds to place it in his chest, where his own is beating, excited, expectant, welcoming.

At first is strange, he feels heavy, but not bad. It's not an unpleasant feeling.

He gets up, exultant. ‘That’s it’, he breathes. He feels happier than ever. He rushes out of his room, looking for John. He has fixed it! Now John would be himself again.

He has barely reach the kitchen when he feels dizzy, the blood in his head buzzing, pumped with the strength of two hearts beating furiously. He can’t manage to the living room before his knees gives up and collapses, a sudden urge to scream running through his nerves.

John jumps from the sofa and kneels beside Sherlock. He frowns, his hands on his body looking for injuries.

‘What's wrong? Tell me what’s wrong!’. He researches inwardly on his medical training fighting the panic that rises in his throat. He cannot identify any symptom, there’s no injuries and he’s feeling helpless, suddenly afraid of loosing a patient. He places his hands on his cheeks, pinning his face on place, and looks directly on his eyes, and he sees it. The pain, the fear, are his own. But not only his own. “He’s not a patient”, John realizes, “he’s essential to me”

‘Who are you?’ John demands, ‘I need to know’. There’s a crack on the mask that cover his face but otherwise the man keeps silent. ‘Please’ John begs, his voice broken. A tear runs down the other man’s cheek and the mask breaks in a thousand pieces, leaving his face bare.

John gasps and stares in disbelief. ‘Sherlock’ he mutters.

Sherlock throws himself into his arms and dissolves into tears. He wants to cry in joy, John remembers him, but the remaining feelings from the shared heart are overwhelming. ‘I’m sorry’, he says between sobs, ‘I’m so-sorry John, I didn’t-I didn't know’

‘God Sherlock’ John begins to cry too, hugging Sherlock tightly.

‘It hurts, it hurts s-so much’

John suddenly sobers up. ‘What have you done?’ He asks, grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders. He looks at him intently, then understands and takes pity on him.

‘Give it back to me’

‘But... No John, it’s not enough, it’s too soon... It...’

‘Hurts. I know, you idiot. That’s why... nevermind, give it back, I’m ready’

‘No, John, it’s my fault’

‘Shut up, I know it’s your fault, but it’s okay, you’re here and we have all the time of the world for you to compensate me’ He grins, and when Sherlock opens his mouth again he mutters ‘I’ve missed you’  
Sherlock grins widely. ‘Me too’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I'm so bad at endings... Anyway, I swear I wanted them to kiss, but though I tried it seemed it didn't fit and the moment passed... maybe next time.
> 
> I hope all of you have enjoyed this little fic, it was a surprise how much I enjoyed writting it. Once again I may apologize for all my grammar and writting mistakes (any help in that matter is highly apreciated).  
> Also, feel free to express your opinion about the story, I would love to know.
> 
> Love for you all!!


End file.
